Concealed
by Zen Lady
Summary: When the new Roman garrison commander asks for help in bringing his family safely north from Londinium, the task seems simple enough. However, not everything is as straightforward as it seems.
1. The Mission

Disclaimer: This story is written for fun and relaxation, not for profit.

Notes: Although _King Arthur_ is more of an entertaining film than a classic, the similarities between it and my favorite film of all time, _Shichnin no Samurai_ (Seven Samurai), startled me the first time I watched it. If you're familiar with that 1954 classic, one of the greatest movies ever made, then you've probably noticed some of the similarities as well.

[Also, for anyone waiting for the next chapter of _Children of the Goddess_, it's nearly finished in rough form.]

The following is a fun story to distract me from the long days of job hunting and the tedium of working part-time as a freelance writer.

**

* * *

Concealed**

by Zen Lady

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_We are but a moment's sunlight  
Fading in the grass..._

Chet Powers, _Let's Get Together_

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**Chapter 1: The Mission**

The whole month had availed nothing more than routine patrols, an event that caused grumbling and discontent among the men. A whole month! Despite the foul moods due to lack of employment, Arthur knew that their luck held, for Gawain had suffered a serious fever from a wound that had festered. The lull had provided valuable time for him to rest and recover, time the others didn't begrudge him. As his fever raged, the knights had displayed surly, aggressive behavior towards the Roman legions; when it abated, they grew merry and raucous again.

In this fallow period, the garrison commander, Legatus Legionis Septimus Festus, sent a message to Arthur asking to meet with him. Curious, Arthur went to see the man, hoping that there would be a diverting task to occupy the knights for a few days. After the long drought, the men would welcome anything, he knew.

In the six months that Festus had been at the fortress, Arthur had grown to respect the old man, who had a long and distinguished military career behind him and was a huge improvement over his vain predecessor. Whatever the commander had to say would be worth hearing, Arthur imagined.

He knocked on the open door before entering the legate's study, and Festus, a fit, grey-haired Roman man, looked up from a parchment with a smile.

"Thank you for your time," Festus said in salutation. "How fares Gawain?"

"Better," Arthur replied, wondering if his companion was truly concerned or just being polite. Deciding the former was more likely, he added, "It's kind of you to ask."

"Not at all." Festus waved off his thanks and gestured for him to take a seat. "Arthur, as you may have guessed, I have invited you here to ask for your help. To ask a favor of you and your knights."

"If there is some way that we can be of assistance, then we are at your service, sir."

The other man rubbed one hand over his face. "First of all, know that what I'm about to say is a request and not an order."

Arthur sat up straighter. "Go on."

Festus nodded slowly. "My wife and daughter are currently traveling here from Rome. At first, I had thought to send a detail to meet them in Eboracum, but I have today learned that they are to arrive in Londinium."

The man didn't need to say another word, for Arthur could guess what he wanted. The city of Londinium, far to the south, had deteriorated over the years and was not a pleasant place for even a short visit. "I assume you require an escort."

Festus nodded again. "All that way…" He sat back in his chair and cast a humorless smile at Arthur. "It's too late to send word for them to turn back, so they must continue the rest of the way."

"I'm sure the men would welcome the occupation, for they've been idle for nearly a month," said Arthur, his mind already working on whom to send.

"There is another thing." Festus hesitated before continuing. "Feliciana is my only daughter, and she's grown quite lovely. If you choose two or three men whom you would trust with a pretty girl's honor, it would ease my mind."

Arthur nodded his understanding. Of course Gawain would have been his first choice, but his recovery would preclude him from going. Sending Bors to escort two Roman gentlewomen would be a disaster; perhaps Lancelot would be a good choice, for although the man was a rogue with women, he would keep his attentions to harmless flirting with Septimus Festus's daughter. Galahad also had a sense of social grace when he chose to employ it, and the youngster had grown restless during the period of inaction.

None of the others were immediate choices for escorts. The taciturn natures of Tristan and Dagonet meant that neither of them was likely to say anything that would offend the women. Arthur mused that the scout would be most useful on such a long journey, but he wondered which one had a worse itch to ride out on a mission.

"I don't foresee any problem," Arthur assured the old man. "My men will see that your family arrives safely."

Festus looked into his eyes with an expression of gratitude on his face. "I can't say how it eases my mind," he admitted. "Thank you."

* * *

The long journey to Londinium passed without any unusual events to mark it, and the three knights were looking forward to a hot meal and a warm bed for the night. Lancelot, though, had to leave Galahad and Tristan at their billeted lodgings in the military barracks. The mission was in his command, and he was responsible for meeting the Ladies Silvia and Feliciana, wife and daughter of old Septimus Festus, and arranging to move them out as soon as possible. Arthur had said that the girl was a beauty and her virtue must be protected; even though she was off limits, Lancelot was curious to get a look at such a temptress.

The women were staying at the house of Lucius Capellus, a Roman administrator whose house was well known and easy to find in the morass of Londinium. The manservant who admitted Lancelot, upon hearing who he was, brought him to an antechamber to wait while he sought the ladies. As he waited, the knight recalled the words that he had planned to say to the old woman in order to gain her trust and reassure her that her beautiful daughter would be safe.

"Eh! What sort of man are you to call upon my mistress in such a filthy state?" cried a woman's voice.

Startled, Lancelot turned to face a brown-faced serving woman wearing a dark smock and knotted headscarf. She appeared to be in middle age, and she glared at Lancelot with a disapproving frown.

"Disgraceful! And you a knight of Rome!" she harangued. "To come into the presence of a lady unshaven, unwashed! With the filth of travel still on your boots – and _armed_!"

Lancelot felt his lips twitch with a repressed chuckle at the fierce little woman's indignant tirade. "Septimus Festus asked me and my men to waste no time in meeting with his family and starting them on the long trip north." He had to force himself not to laugh. She reminded him of a scrawny chicken that bullied the other animals in a barnyard.

"Sir Knight," called another woman from behind the servant, and Lancelot's eyes moved to her. "How good of you to come all this way to fetch us."

The beauty of Festus's daughter had been exaggerated he saw with disappointment. Although she had a round, luscious figure, her Roman gown would be more suited to a matron, and her masses of dark hair had been tortured up into some hideous coiffure that must have been the latest fashion. Her face was appealing, though, with round, dark eyes and a fresh complexion that was definitely not Roman. Odd that she looked nothing like her father.

"It's an honor, lady," he said with a nod.

She came closer, her eyes fastened to him and a little smile on her lips. Lancelot knew when he was being admired and regretted that she was not the beauty he had looked forward to meeting. Such a cruel irony!

"You're not Roman, are you?" she observed, smiling and examining him with pleasure.

"No. My brothers-in-arms and I are knights from Sarmatia inducted into the Roman army. Your father entrusted us with seeing you ladies safely on the journey north."

Her eyes widened in astonishment. "My _father_?" Then she laughed. "No – forgive me, sir. Septimus is my husband. I am Silvia of the Helvetii."

Although young girls were married to old men in Rome, Lancelot had never witnessed it before. The woman before him was probably no more than twenty. How old could the daughter be? "I am Lancelot," he told her. "Forgive my curiosity, but I know that Festus has grown sons in the army."

"You are perfectly correct, but those are the children of his first wife." She finally turned her admiring eyes away from him and towards the servant, who was still glowering with disapproval. "Althea, some refreshment for Knight Lancelot."

"Immediately, Domina."

She turned back to him with the spark of excitement in her eyes. "Perhaps a cup of good Spanish wine to wash away the dust of the road?"

The shameless way she stared at him flattered and amused Lancelot, who was no stranger to flirtations and trysts with other men's wives. However, this young wife seemed rather more unaware of what she was doing than calculating with sly glances. Even if she had been attractive to him, the wife of Festus was off limits as well as his daughter; he had no wish to spend any more time than necessary in this house. "You're very kind, but your servant is right: I'm not fit for company. I've come here to request that you and your daughter be ready to leave at first light."

Her smile had disappeared, and she met his gaze with a frown. "We shall be ready."

Drawing a sealed parchment from within his tunic, he held it out to her. "I was charged to carry this letter for you from the legate."

The lady nodded to her servant, who came forward to take the letter. "Thank you. Until tomorrow, then."

After taking his leave, Lancelot returned to the billet, for dusk was falling and he wanted a hot meal after so long on the road. Once he had turned his horse over to the stable hands, he stowed his gear and went to find the others. Galahad and Tristan sat alone at one of the long wooden tables in the mess hall while Roman legionaries watched them and talked in hushed voices. Galahad was scowling around at them rather than eating; Tristan, however, ate hunched over his meal in his usual manner without paying attention to the Roman infantrymen who watched them.

"Is it any good?" Lancelot asked as he joined them.

"Lancelot!" Galahad forgot about their audience. "Did you arrange for the family's departure?"

"They'll be ready to move out at dawn," he assured the younger man as he examined the contents of their bowls. The thick, meaty stew smelled better than it looked, so he went over to the open area in the inner wall where the cook's assistant was handing out meals. When the boy saw Lancelot, his eyes grew round with fear, and he hurriedly slopped several large spoonfuls of stew into a bowl for him.

On the way back to the table, Lancelot smirked at the way the Roman soldiers regarded him. Unlike Galahad's irritation and Tristan's unconcern, the Roman wariness amused him. Among the legionaries in their colorful uniforms, the knights looked like a gang of brigands. Both of them looked up as he settled down with them.

After the bleak meals on the road, most of which were cold, the stew tasted delicious. "I didn't see the daughter, so I can't say if she's as beautiful as we've been led to believe," he told them between bites.

"And the mother? You saw her?" asked Galahad, which made sense, for great beauties often had mothers who retained their looks.

Lancelot snorted. "She's Festus's second wife. Must be twenty years younger than him, and not the mother of his children." He sat back and grinned at the two of them. "Besides that, she's not Roman, she's Helvetian."

"Helvetian?" Galahad repeated as Tristan looked up in surprise from his meal. "Where are they from?"

"They come from the high mountains north of Italy," he explained before taking another bite. "Strong, shapely girl. Rosy-faced. Looks strange in all that Roman finery."

The three men ate in silence for a few minutes. Although common among the Romans, to them, marrying a young girl to an old man with adult children seemed unnatural. "Are you sure she's not the mother of the daughter?"

"Only if the daughter is five or six years old." Lancelot sighed and looked at his two companions. "I'm not looking forward to that long trip with them. They have a sharp-tongued serving woman who chastised me for tracking in dust to the house."

Tristan gave a little snort, and Galahad shook his head in disbelief. "Is she coming as well?"

"Don't see why not. The ladies need someone to wait on them."

"The journey north will take twice as long as it did for us coming south," said Tristan with an amused look at Galahad. "But it will seem ten times longer than that since we'll be traveling with women."

The scout sometimes exhibited dark humor that unnerved the others, but Lancelot laughed heartily at his comment. "I think Galahad has little experience with women." He grinned at the young knight. "Like a dead fish, traveling with women grows more unpleasant with each passing day."

Galahad had to laugh. "You're a foul poet. It's a wonder that you can win any woman's favor with such verses."

"Because I have no need of verses to woo a woman," he quipped with a grin before returning his attentions to his meal.

* * *

Acknowledgment: Many thanks to the fabulous **the holy see** for beta reading.

Further thanks to my long-time friend, SG, for giving me a DVD of _King Arthur_ during his last visit.

Kisses to my sweetie, ZC, for the special edition 3-DVD set of _Shichinin no Samurai_.


	2. The Journey Begins

**Chapter 2: The Journey Begins**

Traveling provided a welcome break from the complicated fashions and hairstyles required in Roman society; therefore, Silvia dressed and pinned back her hair with a simple silver ornament without Althea's assistance before going to see if Feliciana was still steeping. When she entered the girl's bedroom, she was shocked to find her awake, wearing her most flattering silk dress, and having her hair crimped and dressed by one of the house slaves.

"Feliciana," she sighed in exasperation. "I've told you to wear something plain and sturdy."

"I'm sure it doesn't matter," said the girl as she surveyed her appearance in the glass.

"It will matter to you after a few days in the cold and damp."

Feliciana merely rolled her eyes. Although Silvia had explained that they were going to a bleak outpost and there would be no inns along the way as there had been for most of the trip, the girl seemed incapable of comprehending the concept of _wilderness_. Knowing her step-daughter, however, Silvia had instructed Althea to pack more appropriate garments for the girl. Whereas the cart that Otho would drive held crates packed with provisions for the length of the trip as well as their luggage, Althea had carefully stored all the items they would need on the journey in the carruca driven by Quintillus.

Among those items were heavy, fur-lined cloaks woven from the waterproof wool of highland sheep. In Rome, Feliciana had sworn never to wear such an ugly provincial Helvetian cloak, a garment she said was made for slaves. _Perhaps she will not wear it in Rome, _Silvia mused_, but on the long road north from Londinium, she'll be glad for it._

Outside, the cart and carruca stood in readiness for departure. The carruca's canvas sides had been rolled up to allow air in while opaque drapes of cream, orange, and gold gave the passengers some privacy. Within, two pallets provided comfortable places for the passengers to recline, and a small amount of food, wine, and water was stored for use during the day. Even a sturdy chamberpot stood ready to make trips into the forest unnecessary,

Silvia smiled, thinking that Lancelot would be pleased when he arrived that there would be no delay. A stable boy was tying her pretty, white palfrey, which she rode upon a lady's pillion, to the back of the carruca. In Rome, the custom called for a servant to lead a horse because upper-class matrons rode sideways; however, a slight variation in the pillion allowed her to take the palfrey's reins herself and dispense with the servant. Of course, it would be unseemly for the wife of Septimus Festus to appear that way, so she would have to stay in the carruca until they had quit the city.

The clatter of horses' hooves on the street stones alerted them to the arrival of their escort, and Silvia turned to face them as Lancelot led his men into the yard. By the Powers, he was a delicious sight! She felt her whole being light up with excitement as she examined him.

"Well, lady," he called with a grin. "I can see you are ready at the right time."

"As I said we would," she countered with a smile. Only then did she glance at the other two knights. One was a young and rather pretty fellow wearing a short tunic in the barelegged, Roman way. She doubted he was any older than she was. The other was a dark, shaggy fellow in a long tunic and braccae as was worn in the north. "You are welcome, knights. We are relieved and grateful to have your protection."

The young one nodded to her, but then his mouth opened, and he stared at something behind her with wide eyes. Silvia did not need to turn around to know that Feliciana had made her premeditated entrance. Even Lancelot was smiling in appreciation of the beautiful vision.

"Silvia," hissed the girl behind her. "They are _filthy_."

All the air seemed to vanish from within Silvia's lungs. Was the girl mad? To insult the men who were supposed to see them safely over many long leagues of dangerous countryside?

"As will you in a few days," said Althea in reply, and Silvia breathed in relief, thanking the Powers for the loyal servant. "As will we all."

"My father would not have sent dirty _barbarians_ to escort me."

Still in shock, Silvia turned to stare at the girl and shake her head. No words came to her. Although like many people, Feliciana treated slaves rudely, one might expect her to be polite to _knights_.

"I suppose you'd prefer to travel all that way with just Otho and Quintillus for protection," Althea retorted with a glare.

Silvia glanced at Lancelot, whose fine brow wrinkled with a frown, and then she turned back to her step-daughter with a grim expression. "Enough. No more words. Get in."

Althea moved to take Feliciana by the arm. The girl must have realized that she had behaved badly: ducking her head, she allowed the servants to help her into the carruca.

One of Lucius Capellus's slaves carried Pag out; as Silvia took the little dog in her arms, she wondered what she could possibly say in apology for Feliciana's offensive remarks. Looking up at the three knights, she wondered if she shouldn't just leave it for now and offer an apology when tempers had cooled. The young one looked angry, and the shaggy one seemed uninterested. Seeing the frown on Lancelot's face made her feel queasy, though, so she walked over to them. "Please forgive my step-daughter," she said in a low voice, not looking at them. "She is young, and her father spoils her. And I let him."

"Pity that such a tongue goes with the face," said Lancelot. "What have you got there? A mouse?"

Pag barked at him then, and he laughed. The other knights seemed amused. "A dog, of course," she replied.

"Are you sure?" asked the young one with a grin. "I suppose the cats chase it rather than the other way around."

The uncomfortable moment seemed to have passed, and Silvia relaxed. Casting a final smile at them, her eyes lingering on Lancelot, she took the servant's hand and climbed into the carruca with the other women.

"What was the meaning of that outburst?" she asked Feliciana once they were underway. "I've never seen you ill-treat your father's men."

"They're awful," the girl declared with tears in her eyes. "They're _foreigners_."

"As am I," Silvia reminded without sympathy for the spoiled girl, "and Althea as well."

"But they're filthy. And so _hairy_. So unclean, so unshaven."

"It is the natural state of men to grow whiskers," Althea told her. "Only in Rome do they shave their chins."

"My dear father wore a beard and long hair," said Silvia without warmth. "As my brothers do now. If my father were alive, would you speak to him in the same offensive manner?"

"Of course not," Feliciana sobbed. "I would treat your father with the honor he deserves."

"Then I cannot understand why you've been such a brat."

Althea handed the young woman a clean cloth. "Dry your eyes. There is no need for tears."

Feliciana sniffled a few more times and dabbed at the wet spots on her cheek.

"Your father trusts these men to bring you and Silvia back safely over many days travel in dangerous country," the servant murmured, petting the girl's hair. "You would never disrespect even the lowest of his men, and these are knights."

"What has caused this reaction?" Silvia demanded, still irritated by the dark look on Lancelot's attractive face.

Feliciana drew in a deep, quivering breath. "I heard you tell Althea that the knight who came here yesterday was uncommonly handsome. That you hoped the others were half as fine."

How had she overheard that? Silvia considered her lovely step-daughter with her curled hair tied with a ribbon. Had the silly girl dressed with the hope of impressing the reportedly _handsome_ knights? Was all this just shock at finding they were foreigners? It made sense. Having lived all her life in the city of Rome, Feliciana admired the Roman ideal of beauty: men who were clean-shaven, short-haired, and high-browed. In her eyes, the sensuous knight from the previous day, with those flashing dark eyes and enticing full lips, would be nothing but a comely barbarian.

Having Feliciana know that she liked the knight made Silvia feel vulnerable and defensive. She'd rather have kept it a secret, so she reacted with more heat and annoyance than she might otherwise have expressed. "You shouldn't have listened in secret," she snapped. "You obviously misheard what was said."

"We will be traveling under the protection of these knights for a long time," Althea explained. "You must find a way to make amends, for it's a long trip better spent in friendship than coldness."

* * *

As the Roman cart and carriage trundled along the north road from Londinium, the knights rode at ease, for there were few dangers lurking so close to the city. The warm and clear weather meant the roads were dry and easy to travel for the two vehicles. Tristan rode ahead, and Galahad rode with Lancelot near the carriage transporting the ladies.

The sight of the young lady, the daughter of Septimus Festus, had dazzled Galahad. The women who lived up near the wall were generally peasants or merchants' wives. The last Roman commander's wife had been an ancient crone in Galahad's eyes, but she was the only lady he had ever seen before now.

The girl was lovely, with a cascade of honey-colored curls, a delicate, oval face, and almond shaped eyes whose color he hadn't been able to discern. Although she was on the skinny side, the flimsy blue garment she wore looked pretty on her. She was young, just a girl, really, and she'd probably grow more womanly in time.

The other young lady, the wife, seemed pleasant enough. She had a more buxom figure and a cheerful countenance, but her besotted eyes followed Lancelot, and Galahad pitied her. Women in general admired him, of course, but this lady didn't seem to realize that she revealed her feelings so easily.

A few times during the day, the little dog jumped down from the carriage where it rode with the ladies. Barking in its ridiculous high voice, the tiny animal would scamper about in happiness before lifting its leg to urinate on a clump of grass. Then it would leap back up onto the carriage where the ladies would push aside the curtains for a second to welcome it back.

The long day ended just before dusk when Lancelot announced that they would camp beneath the shelter of some tall trees just off the road. Tristan went to make a final survey of the general area, so Galahad dismounted and joined Lancelot, who was tending to his horse. After a tedious day of walking, broken only by the occasional light canter, the hardy animals were not tired and needed only a quick rub down.

By the time they had finished, the two Roman men had positioned their vehicles near an enormous tree and were seeing to the carthorses. The old servant woman had begun to set firewood in an appropriate spot, and the lady was rummaging around in the back of the cart for some supplies. Only the girl wasn't working: she walked back and forth, stretching her back and neck.

"Feliciana," called the lady to her, "come here and help me."

"Let Galahad and I collect some wood," Lancelot said to the servant, who was struggling with a heavy branch.

"Very kind of you sir." She smiled as Lancelot took the branch from her.

Galahad joined in the search for dry wood. The ground was littered with twigs and branches, but much of it had rotted, so he went farther until he had filled his arms. He returned with the armload just as Tristan arrived. After dumping his armload, he watched as the pretty girl, Feliciana, approached Lancelot, taking little steps and looking anxious. The lady walked with her, propelling her with a hand on her arm.

Lancelot straightened up as they approached, and the girl held out a wooden cup to him. "Please accept this cup of wine, Sir Knight," she said in a trembling voice that was almost a whisper.

"Gladly," he replied with his usual cheeky grin, taking the cup. "I could use a drink."

She smiled in reply, her eyes darting up to look at him for a moment before she quickly looked away. She then approached Galahad and held out another cup to him without looking at him. "And for you, sir."

"Thank you, lady," he said as he took it, wishing she would look at him. "I'm called Galahad." He could imagine Lancelot laughing at his feeble attempt at gallantry; however, the girl looked up in surprise, the reward he sought, so he smiled at her.

She really was lovely, and she smiled back. "I'm Feliciana," she replied, her voice still low, but she didn't look away. She met his gaze with her lovely, tawny brown eyes, and she seemed unafraid.

He raised his cup to her and took a sip. The lady beamed at both men before handing her another cup. Only then did the girl look away, but she glanced back at him with another little smile as the two women moved away.

Once they were gone, Lancelot chuckled. Galahad glared at him, but the older man nodded after them. "I wonder if Tristan is going to introduce himself."

The women had intercepted the scout, and now the poor girl stood looking at him with wide eyes. Galahad couldn't hear what was said, but the lady nudged her and finally spoke to Tristan for her. Even from several paces away, Galahad could see that Feliciana's hand shook as she held out the cup.

Feeling annoyed, Galahad turned away and took a gulp of the rich, expensive wine. Tristan never missed anything. He must have realized that the poor girl was afraid and could have acted a little more gentle than usual.

The old serving woman came around next with metal platters piled with food. She served the ladies first and then the knights before feeding the two serving men who had finished with their work. The strange, little dog with its yipping bark came scurrying out of the woods and ran to its mistress, who laughed, scratched its head, and fed it morsels from her own plate.

Dark had fallen, and the ladies sat near the fire on small rugs. Perhaps the ground was too cold or dirty for ladies to sit on it. Feliciana's delicate blue dress looked out of place in this rustic camp and was not meant to be worn while sitting on the ground.

The Roman men sat at their own small fire as far away from the ladies as possible; Galahad settled down near Lancelot where he could easily look at Feliciana. The meal consisted of salted meat, dried fruit, hunks of cheese, and some unfamiliar vegetables in green oil. He glanced at Lancelot, who grinned at him, for it was probably the best meal they had ever had in the field.

The serving woman came around with an earthenware vessel to refill their cups with more wine. _One more is all right_, he thought, for two cups of wine would not affect his senses and would actually help him to relax. He sipped his wine while his gaze moved to Feliciana on the right, and he caught her looking at him. She lowered her eyes, blushing, but then looked back up at him with a charmingly red face. He gave her his best smile, and their gazes held for a few seconds until someone spoke to her and the intimate moment ended.

Although he felt giddy, Galahad clenched his jaw to keep a neutral expression on his face, for he had no wish to give Lancelot ammunition with which to torture him. Had anyone noticed? Tristan was as inscrutable as ever, and Lancelot smirked at him and winked.

Yes, they had noticed.

After the old woman had collected the platters and had taken them back to the cart to clean them with some water, the two ladies seemed to be having a discussion.

"Please, Silvia," asked Feliciana. "I'm sure the others would like some diversion for this evening." Her lovely eyes slid to the knights, and Galahad was disappointed to see her looking this time at Lancelot and not him.

"Very well," sighed Silvia. "Fetch my cithara, then."

"What's a cithara?" he asked Lancelot in a quiet voice.

"A kind of big lyre," the older man replied, but he was watching the lady called Silvia.

Galahad only had a vague idea of what a lyre was, so he waited to see it. He recognized the stringed instrument that Feliciana carried back from the cart, and only then did he realize that the lady, Silvia, was going to play music. The prospect excited him because they didn't have many opportunities to hear music played on a real instrument. There were drunken songs roared out by the Roman infantrymen stationed at the garrison, but not the sounds generated by skilled hands.

She took the instrument with a murmur of thanks and bent her head to listen as she plucked the strings and adjusted their tautness. That process took several minutes during which everyone's attention was focused on her although she seemed not to notice. Then she positioned the instrument and began to play a series of sounds that started very low and progressed at even intervals to higher and higher tones. The tones peaked with one very high sound before they descended again to the deep, low tones.

To Galahad, the music was lovely. He had never heard anything like it; however, Feliciana's words surprised him. "Enough of the scales already. Play something!"

He wondered what she meant by scales since he knew this word only as the balance that merchants used for weighing. When she began to play a tune, however, he forgot those thoughts because the rich and delicate tones of the cithara filled his ears and his head. The beautiful music transported him away from his surroundings, and even though he didn't close his eyes, the present faded from his vision. Instead of the crackling fire and the illuminated forms of his companions, he saw swirling colors like wind-tossed clouds in his mind. The music transported him for a time to a lovely place he had never before known.

Too soon, it was over, and he sat staring into the fire. The music had held him in a kind of rapture, like powerful magic. Now, relaxed and starting to feel sleepy, he wondered if the combination of music and wine made an effective sleep tonic.

He looked over and saw Feliciana go off with the old serving woman, who carried the cithara. The girl glanced over at him and smiled before following the other woman to the carriage, where he assumed she was going to sleep. Disappointed at her departure, he decided to get his cloak, which he had left with his saddle and other gear.

When he returned to the fire, he saw that Lancelot had moved closer to Silvia, whom the other women had left alone. She laughed at something he said, and as he rolled himself in his cloak, Galahad wondered if Lancelot intended to charm the lady. _Won't take much_, he thought as he turned his back to them and closed his eyes. On the other hand, they would be traveling for a long time, and she was the wife of the garrison commander. As Galahad drifted off to sleep, he decided that Lancelot was too prudent to get involved now.

* * *

Acknowledgments: Thanks to the holy see for beta reading.


	3. Riding Lessons

**Chapter 3: Riding Lessons**

Pag's annoying barking floated into the carruca as if from far away as Feliciana woke to jolting and swaying. Groaning and throwing her arm over her eyes, she muttered, "Why did they leave so early and disturb my sleep?"

"If we moved only on your command, we would never reach your father's outpost."

Feliciana removed her arm to glare at Althea who was sitting on the other pallet doing some mending. Although she relied on Silvia's servant, sometimes she hated her.

"How am I to bathe?" she demanded as she pushed off the covers. She had slept in her clothes, and her pretty hair ribbon lay crumpled upon one of the cushions where her head had rested.

"There's water in the jug and a clean cloth," Althea offered as she knotted her thread. "Or you can ask Lancelot to stop at the nearest pond or stream."

"Pond?" The stupid cow was trying to anger her and Feliciana would not give a servant that satisfaction. "Where is Silvia?"

"Riding." She bit the thread and yanked with one sharp tug to break it.

Feliciana made a sound of disgust in her throat. Riding. Of course. She was about to draw back the drapes when she heard the sound of a man's voice followed by a low chuckle. Although she could not discern the words, she thought the voice belonged to Lancelot.

Knowing that Galahad rode somewhere on the other side of the drapes stopped her hand, and she sat back to consider her actions. What would the man think of her if she screamed at her step-mother in this state? Having just woken, her hair hung in a tangle, and she could feel the grime of travel on her skin. _He'd probably think he'd seen the Gorgon_.

Instead, she swung her legs over the side of the pallet. "Fetch me the water jug, then, and the cloth."

The old woman twitched the bottom of the drapes to let Pag into the carruca before she complied with the request. Feliciana ignored the little dog that jumped up on the other pallet, for her blue silk dress was as wrinkled as a crone's neck.

"And I obviously can't stay in this. What else have I to wear?"

"You're in luck," Althea told her as she handed her the water and cloth. "Silvia had me pack your green wool."

"Oh, _lovely_," she muttered as she wet the cloth and began to clean her face.

"Well, it's that or what you've got on."

She didn't reply to that; instead, she took her time in washing her face, neck, and hands. Then she had Althea help her get undressed before doing her best at washing the rest of her body. Finally, she donned the green dress and handed her comb to the servant. "Try not to pull too hard."

Getting out the tangles took longer than she expected, but that was no doubt due to the inexpert crimping done yesterday by the slave at the Capellus's house. As soon as she deemed herself presentable, she settled back on her pallet, positioned herself, and had Althea open the drapes.

Riding about twenty paces from the carruca, the disheveled knight with the strange little plaits in his long hair glanced at her; she shivered in displeasure and averted her eyes. He frightened her, and she did not even greet him with a nod. The white pony ambled ahead of the carruca; thus Silvia could not see Feliciana. Trailing a bit behind, Galahad watched something off to his right and also didn't see her. Wonderful.

"You deliberately insult that man by not wishing him a good morning," Althea told her in a quiet voice that would not be overhead.

"I don't care," she whispered back. What right had the old cow to reprimand her anyway?

"Seeing as these knights are escorting you as a favor to your father, you show a terrible disregard for your own well-being."

"Oh, be quiet." Feliciana turned her head away from Althea, but she again found herself looking at the horrible knight with the barbarian marks on his face. This time, however, he took no notice of her. Instead, to her joy, Galahad must have seen her, for his horse trotted up to the side of the carruca. His eyes were a pretty, blue color, and she liked his face even with the scrubby whiskers on his jaw.

"I trust you slept well," he greeted with a smile that fluttered her heart, "though with half the day gone, I expect you did."

At first, she was hurt and angered at the jest that she thought unfair; however, she heard Althea chuckle, and the terrible, unkempt knight tossed her what could have been an amused glance. Looking into Galahad's face, she realized that he was just teasing her.

"I was uncommonly tired," she said in an attempt to sound sheepish. "I'm not so used to traveling."

"It's to be expected, for the road generally proves dull for ladies." He gazed at her with a keen glint in his lovely eyes. "Perhaps you have some talent to pass the time. Can you play music as well?"

His question shouldn't have surprised her, for she had watched him last night and had seen how he had lost himself in the music. She scowled and for the first time, envied Silvia's skill.

"Only very ill," she admitted with a sigh.

"Ah, never mind. Perhaps you may ride the palfrey later, and the Lady Silvia can give us another song."

Astonished, she glanced at Silvia riding the white pony, sitting on the pillion with her knees pulled up in front of her instead of on one side, as was usual. Lancelot had moved his horse next to hers and was leaning closer to say something to her, which irked Feliciana. Of course, Silvia looked ridiculous, for women's anatomy made riding unnatural, but Galahad seemed to think it was normal. Perhaps all barbarian women rode horses, she thought. Although she had become a sophisticated lady over the past five years, Silvia was sometimes still a bit unrefined.

Now, though, Feliciana longed to be able to sit upon the pony and guide it with the reins. Then Galahad could ride beside her away from the carruca. He could lean close and say things to make her laugh that no one else would be able to hear. Even if she looked ridiculous, what would it matter out here?

"I cannot ride the pony," she told him, but she wasn't sure what else to tell him.

Galahad glanced at the pony for a second and then back. "I suppose not. Why didn't you bring _your_ horse, though?

"_My_ horse?" She frowned at him, trying to understand. Did he think that she had her own horse? Looking at him and Lancelot and the other man, she tried to imagine what their lives were like. Did they think that Roman ladies rode horses?

"Couldn't you bring it?" he prompted.

"I have no horse," she said. "I don't know how to ride."

"Don't know how?" He frowned at her.

Lancelot and Silvia were still up ahead, and the other man wasn't paying attention to what was said. Feliciana bit her lip and looked at him without knowing how to reply.

"In the city of Rome, ladies never ride horses," Althea explained. "It is not the custom to ride horses within the city walls, and only wealthy men who travel outside the city learn to ride."

Galahad's brows shot up. "Really?"

"It is customary for a servant to lead a lady's pony," the servant continued. "If Feliciana or Silvia were seen riding by other Romans, it would bring dishonor upon the family."

"_Dishonor_!" he cried in disbelief.

The outburst had attracted the attention of the others. Both Silvia and Lancelot slowed their mounts until they were all even. "An unusual word for a conversation with an unmarried lady," said Lancelot, his eyes locked with Galahad.

A chill ran through Feliciana. Something dark and dangerous lurked below the surface in the charming Lancelot, something that frightened her.

Galahad narrowed his eyes. "Your confidence in me is flattering."

"We were talking about why I cannot ride Silvia's pony," Felicia blurted in his defense before she realized what she was doing.

Lancelot's fine, dark eyes moved to her, and she could not look away. Sweet Lord, he was handsome! Now, she understood what Silvia had meant. With that, however, he was also masterful and discomposing, and he made her feel weak and breathless.

"The word is mine," Althea admitted. "For a woman to be seen riding on horseback within the city of Rome would bring dishonor upon her family."

The men looked to Silvia, who was frowning. "It's true," she said.

"Do ladies have to walk everywhere?" asked Galahad.

"No, slaves carry litters in which ladies ride," Silvia explained with a sigh.

Lancelot laughed and shook his head while Galahad exclaimed, "You cannot be serious."

Their reactions confused Feliciana, who saw nothing surprising or humorous about virtuous women traveling in an appropriate manner. Althea and Silvia were both smiling, however, so she suspected that there was something she didn't know.

"Well, you can learn," Galahad suggested as if it were all that simple. "It's not difficult, and that palfrey certainly has a smooth gait."

The image rose in Feliciana's eyes of the handsome knight holding her in front of him on his horse with his strong arm tight around her. Excited, she glanced at Silvia in time to see her eyes widen in alarm.

"No," said Lancelot, and they all looked at him. "If Legate Festus gives his permission, then she may learn after we arrive. Until then, we keep moving as fast and steadily as we can."

"But he'll agree," she insisted, desperate to have the handsome Galahad teach her to ride a horse. "Silvia – tell him."

The other lady shook her head. "Your father will not agree," she said. "You must trust me on this."

Something unspoken had passed between Lancelot and Galahad, for their horses both trotted ahead. They were going to talk in private, or else Lancelot was going to chastise the younger man, she thought with a sigh.

"Whining like an infant does not make you appear attractive to that boy," Althea told her.

"But why can I not ride the pony?" she complained. "I'm sure he can teach me with ease." A broad smile spread across her face, and she felt herself flushing.

"Your father would scourge me if I allowed it," said Silvia with unusual gravity.

The dramatic statement brought Feliciana's head up with a sharp jerk. She could not imagine Father even angry at Silvia, never mind angry enough to _beat_ her. "He need not know. None of these men would dare tell him."

Silvia muttered something under her breath, and Feliciana suspected it was an oath for the heathen gods to whom she still sometimes spoke despite her conversion to Christianity. "An unmarried girl is never permitted to ride because such activity might tear her maidenhead even though she remains a virgin."

She stared at Silvia. "I've never heard such a thing."

"Nevertheless." With an annoyed jerk of the reins, Silvia set her horse to a faster pace to take her away from the carruca.

As Feliciana sat thinking about what had been said, she saw the disheveled knight watching the pony's silken smooth ambling gait, so unlike the other horses' jarring trot. Disgusted and irritated with the whole situation, she moved to the other pallet to stroke Pag's fur as he wagged his tail and yawned.

No doubt, what Silvia had said was true, and that meant that she could not have Galahad teach her to ride. She recalled the image to her mind of him holding her with his strong arms around her. Tears filled her eyes and she lay down so that Althea wouldn't notice. There had to be some way to entice him without Silvia knowing. Brushing at her eyes, she began to consider if she might use the handsome Lancelot to distract her step-mother. There was also Althea to consider, of course. Somehow, an opportunity would occur, and Feliciana would just have to be ready to take advantage when it did.

* * *

Acknowledgment: Thanks to **the holy see** for beta reading.

Notes: For SNW and anyone else who was wondering:

_Heihachi_ – Dagonet  
_Kambei Shimada_ – Arthur  
_Kikuchiyo_ – Bors  
_Kyūzō_ – Tristan  
_Katsushirō_ – Galahad_  
Gorōbei_ – Lancelot  
_Shichirōji_ – Gawain

The last two, I think, are a conglomerate. _Gorobei_ is the second in command, but _Shichir__ō__ji_ is _Kambei_'s old friend. I guess both of these characteristics are combined in Lancelot.


	4. Effects of the Road

**Chapter 4: Effects of the Road**

Although Septimus Festus had two sons already grown to manhood, any childless wife maintained a precarious position, even those who had family connections and money. Without those resources, Silvia could not afford indelicacy in her words or actions; therefore, Althea observed the events of their journey with concern.

After everyone else had gone to sleep the first night, Althea had peeked out from the carruca and saw Silvia and Lancelot sitting together by the fire and chatting. There was no question that Silvia liked him, wanted him, but the question of if she would do anything about it remained. She had proven herself capable of infidelity in the past, and this man was glorious, both in appearance and charm. Had Althea been twenty years younger, _she_ would have been sitting near him. To spend so long just talking with a woman, the man possessed a definitive skill at conversation; heaven knew what else he could do with that sensuous mouth of his!

When Silvia abandoned her pallet in the carruca to sleep out in the open air near the fire, Althea began to worry in earnest. Perhaps Lancelot would stay at arm's length from Silvia based on whatever allegiance he owed Septimus Festus. Men sometimes had rules about these things, arbitrary and self-serving rules, but rules nonetheless.

Each evening, Silvia would play her cithara for all of them. Sometimes, she sang to her own accompaniment, and Althea knew that she held them all enthralled during those songs, and Lancelot watched her with open admiration. If anything was going to happen between them, she prayed that they would be more discreet than they were being now. Although Otho the simpleton would not realize what was happening, sly Quintillus would no doubt observe and use the knowledge to his own benefit.

At night after Feliciana had fallen asleep, Althea would peer out and look for Silvia, who sat with Lancelot for a while. In time, she saw that the lady would sit with whoever was on watch; however, when the weather was wet, which it often was, she would return to sleep in the carruca with the other women. _If I don't see anything, then it's certain that Quintillus won't_, Althea assured herself, and nothing occurred, nothing controversial or questionable. At least nothing observable.

What she knew from experience was that Silvia employed extraordinary discretion: she certainly held secrets by the score and spoke of them to no one. Althea knew some of her secrets, like the handsome centurion she had loved two years ago. Whatever happened, she knew that Silvia would remain pragmatic and clear-eyed.

More worrying than the adults, the friendship that had begun between Feliciana and Galahad worried her. Although the girl was intelligent and level-headed, she was also stubborn and silly when it came to good-looking young men. The flirtation was harmless as long as it went no further, for Althea knew that Legate Festus would not allow Galahad to court his daughter under any circumstances. The knight was a pagan and a long-haired foreigner; not everyone was as clever and patient as Silvia. For certain, he would not speak words that he didn't mean, nor would he go through the motions of conversion to Christianity just to placate old fools.

The third knight, Tristan, worried Althea most of all. With him, the feeling was one of vague unease, but she swore he'd cause more trouble that the other two combined. The unkempt hair woven with several little plaits and the bizarre markings on his face reminded her of the long haired Gauls so reviled in Rome.

She had only heard him speak a few words, and she had not liked what he had said. The giant hawk of his had set Pag to barking the first time it swooped down, and Silvia had scolded the dog and set it in the carruca when it should have been the man apologizing to her.

"He is far more brazen than his size warrants," she had said to the knight along with an earnest apology.

"A little thing like him might be mistaken for a meal," he had replied, chilling Althea to the bone. What on earth could the man be thinking to say such a thing to a lady about her cherished pet?

To her credit, Silvia laughed. "Less a meal, I think, and more a tidbit. Not worth her trouble, I think."

The real sources of Althea's worries for both Silvia and Feliciana started a few days into the journey when the laconic knight Tristan came late to their campsite with some plump hares he had killed. Along with everyone else, Althea looked forward to the taste of fresh meat; however, when she went to fetch some of the cooking utensils, she spotted Feliciana on the far side of the cart standing close to Galahad. He seemed to be explaining how the other knight had hunted the hares with arrows, demonstrating how the bow was held and the string drawn back; however, Feliciana was admiring him and paying no attention to what he was saying.

For a moment, Althea thought she would leave them be, for the exchange seemed sweet and harmless, so she collected the items she needed without interrupting. However, she glanced over at them before going back to the others and stopped in the middle of turning away. Laughing, Feliciana held the bow and made a show of her inability to draw the string. To help her, Galahad reached around her, and Althea grimaced as the girl – the shameless hussy – leaned back against him so that both of his arms closed around her.

"Feliciana," called Althea before the appalling display could continue, enjoying perverse satisfaction when they both jumped. They were both feeling guilty, she knew, as well they should be! "It will be dark soon. Silvia bids you to come and prepare for dinner."

"Yes, of course," the girl replied, breathless and rushed, taking several awkward steps towards Althea. "Thank you, sir," she called over shoulder to Galahad as she went, and not watching where she was going, she stumbled a little.

Althea said nothing else but handed her a set of metal platters and led her back to where the others were working. Otho and Quintillus were stacking wood for the fire; Althea faltered for a second because Silvia was sitting on the ground with the other two knights, skinning a hare with alarming ease. The blood stained her hands, and she appeared to be performing for Lancelot, for she was partially turned towards him. The other man, Tristan, was also skinning a hare; he observed the other two with an air of amused curiosity.

After five years, could it really be this easy for Silvia to revert to the common ways of the Helvetians? The journey through this desolate country made living rough necessary; Althea only hoped that when they reached their destination, Silvia still had the ability to play the part of a rich matron.

Casting an anxious glance at Tristan, Feliciana approached Silvia with her brows lowered. "Silvia," she breathed, "what are you doing?"

"Ah, there you are." The older lady looked up with a pleased smile but did not pause in her work. "Dressing an animal is a useful skill to have."

Althea agreed with Feliciana's look of disgust, for butchering raw meat was a low and dirty occupation even for servants: in Rome, such tasks were left to the lowest ranks of slaves. For Silvia to engage in such behavior as part of her flirtation with a man frightened Althea. She had to say something reasonable.

"Though perhaps not something that Legate Festus would want his daughter to learn," she said in an even voice with as much deference as she could manage.

They all looked at her. Silvia was smiling, but she sighed and nodded when her eyes met Althea's. "Yes, you're right of course," she admitted, but she continued what she was doing.

"Roman rules for what women can and cannot do?" asked Lancelot with a sardonic edge to his voice. He was looking at Althea with a wicked glint in his eyes, and the old woman couldn't help an excited little shiver.

Silvia shot him such a brilliant grin that Althea knew that she was holding in her laughter. "Something like that," she replied.

Disapproval showed on Althea's face, and she saw Tristan had observed it and was also squelching a laugh. Whereas Lancelot kindled her long-dormant passions, he unnerved her, sitting there with his knife and the blood dripping from his hands.

"Feliciana, come along with me," she said, leading the girl away from them just as Galahad was approaching. Better that the girl aided her in portioning out the preserved foods they carried than witnessing any more of the foul butchery that Silvia was enjoying.

* * *

If Tristan had taken the time over the years, he may have thought that Galahad was a fool on other occasions, but he had never spared the time or effort for such musings. Now, though, he couldn't ignore the lad's solicitous attentions to the Legate's daughter.

Since ridding herself of the appalling Roman hairstyle, Feliciana looked pretty, but she was thin and slightly built, like a sweet-faced boy. How any man could find such a skinny girl attractive baffled Tristan. On the other hand, Roman men had a long history of buggery with boys, and perhaps such men preferred flat-chested girls with narrow haunches. It all seemed confusing and unnatural to Tristan, who rarely thought about such things. If others preferred to engage in such activities, he didn't care enough to judge or bother to understand them.

Galahad, however, had always seemed content with normal women, so his admiration now of Feliciana puzzled Tristan. Why would a healthy man desire a skinny girl, no matter how beautiful her face? Like a small fish that had to be tossed back into a lake, Tristan considered Feliciana underdeveloped and useless. On the other hand, the girl watched Galahad with delight; her sighs and smiles expressed volumes about her feelings for the youngster. She admired and feared Lancelot as well, a normal state of affairs for young girls. As for Tristan, she quailed in terror and revulsion whenever he looked in her direction, a reaction that amused him and one that he made no effort to redress.

Unlike young Galahad, Lancelot was no fool. Festus's wife, Silvia, fancied him, but such was the natural state of all women; Lancelot would not pursue her. Not openly or publicly, at least. Unlike the girl and the servant, however, that lady treated all the knights with polite friendliness and was quite pleasant to look at. Odd that she was so cheerful, though. Although his knowledge of Roman ladies was limited, Tristan knew that barren women tended to grow bitter.

The first time she had addressed him directly had surprised him. Her palfrey with the graceful gait had ambled up to where he rode ahead. "Good morning," she had greeted with a smile. "Pardon me for disturbing your solitude, but the water that we carry is beginning to run low. I expect that you would be the best one to ask how soon we'll reach a site where we can refill the vessels."

Although they carried plenty of water for drinking, the women's daily bathing used an enormous amount. A few unwashed days would not hurt them. It might even do them good in the long run. The earnest lady spoke with deference, though, and he had no choice but to answer.

"We'll reach a clear running stream tomorrow," he told her. "Probably just past midday."

She nodded, and he expected her to thank him and drop back to ride with Lancelot again. Instead, she continued to ride next to him without speaking for several long minutes.

"I suppose we're spoiled," she said after some time had passed, "but it's not much trouble to allow us time to fetch water. It does no harm."

He arched his brows at her but did not respond. Although he considered it a silly waste of time, he supposed that she had a point. Over the course of their journey, taking time to fetch water would not make much of a difference.

When she looked at him with a sheepish smile, he had the impression that she knew what he was thinking. "You've all been patient with us. It can't be easy for warriors to escort ladies."

Again, he didn't reply. There was no need to say anything, and she didn't seem to object to his silence.

"I don't think Pag annoys the hawk too much," she went on. "But if he does, please tell me, and I'll keep him in the carruca when she's with you."

His lips twitched with laughter. How _serious_ she was. To worry about a hawk being disturbed by a little dog no bigger than a cat!

"You will tell me, though, won't you?" she asked, and he realized she fretted for her pet. "If there were any danger that she would attack Pag, wouldn't you warn me?"

Now, he understood. Women who couldn't have children often adopted surrogates, like small animals, and she was no different. She worried about the little dog who took the place of her children. Once again, he felt compelled to answer.

"There's far less troublesome prey than him," he said, "so you don't need to worry."

A slow smile lit her face, and she gazed at him with genuine warmth, something to which he was not accustomed. "Thank you."

The suspicious old servant, Althea, who was of mixed Greek and Egyptian heritage, was another sort of woman altogether. While Althea also looked at Lancelot with longing, she could not hide her worry over the attention that the lady, a respectable married woman, was paying the knight. Towards all of them, she maintained an air of cool civility, but Tristan had caught her looking at him with loathing a few times, a reaction he had come to expect. He had never been able to determine why people distrusted and feared him on sight. Probably something to do with his appearance and manner.

Of course, Althea probably worried because she didn't know that Lancelot was no fool. Moreover, she hadn't overheard, as Tristan had, much of the talk that passed between Silvia and Lancelot. Of course, they flirted with each other. He would have been surprised if they didn't. However, the lady asked a lot of grave questions that amused the men. She asked about bandits, foul weather, and other dangers. She had Lancelot instruct her on what the women should do in case of danger or any number of emergencies that she invented. She asked about the condition of the fort and the daily life of the people in and around it. She listened with a solemn expression, and Tristan doubted she forgot any of it. Something about her seriousness amused Tristan as well as Lancelot, who teased her about it.

Strange how very different the two ladies were. And even stranger that the girl seemed to have more in common with the servant than with her step-mother, who must have raised her. Although he didn't know Legate Festus at all, Tristan wondered how he treated his wife and daughter. Soon enough, they would arrive, and then he could observe them together and see how different the women behaved in the legate's presence.

* * *

Acknowledgment: Thanks to the holy see for beta reading.


	5. The Attack

**Chapter 5: The Attack**

The trip was turning out to be fairly uneventful, and Lancelot was pleased that the women weren't as troublesome as he had feared. Being out on a mission pleased him as well. The long inactivity had grated on him, and now he was enjoying the action.

That was until one warm, dry day a bit past the halfway point of their journey. Silvia waited until Galahad had moved to ride beside the carriage and chat with Feliciana under the watchful eye of Althea before drawing her palfrey up next to Lancelot and looking at him with that wrinkled, serious frown that he had come to know.

"Would you come forward a bit?" she asked with unusual hesitancy.

"Come forward?" he repeated, confused.

"Yes. I have something that I would like to ask both you and Tristan."

The request surprised and interested him. Her seriousness didn't always mean she had something profound to say, but he couldn't imagine what she would want to ask both of them. "By all means," he said, urging his mount to trot ahead as her sleek little horse glided alongside. He liked the palfrey; its unusual ambling gait pleased and fascinated the knights.

"Yes, I'm going to ask another thing," she began when Tristan cast a suspicious glance at her.

"You can't want more water already," the scout replied.

"Worse than that," she sighed. "We need to camp early one evening near water so we can bathe."

Lancelot couldn't help laughing. "I think your definition of _need_ is quite different than mine," he teased.

"Well, yes," she admitted with an embarrassed flush. "But it would make things far easier and more pleasant for us."

"And I suppose one of us needs to come along to act as guard," he continued. "I'm sure Galahad would volunteer although Tristan would probably agree if you asked him."

The other man glanced at him, but Lancelot had realized that the scout liked looking at Silvia based on the simple fact that he _did_ look at her. The lady, however, reacted with her usual earnest and wide-eyed expression of concern. "Does some danger make that necessary?"

Lancelot laughed again, and he saw a hint of a smile on Tristan's face. "Well, there's no sign of any wolves in the area," the scout volunteered. "Unless you count Lancelot."

She blinked before she understood the joke and laughed while a slight blush tinged her cheeks. "As the old women of the Helvetii say, _all_ men are wolves," she replied. Smiling, she looked from one of them to the other and back. "So, you will agree?"

Lancelot didn't care much one way or the other, and she looked rather pretty with the rosy blush still hot in her cheeks. He glanced at Tristan, who shrugged slightly. Knowing that was as much of a response as he would get, Lancelot nodded. "Very well. We'll stop a little early to make use of the daylight, but you'll have to play us an extra song tonight."

"Oh, _will_ I?" she asked with another laugh. "Beware of starting to barter for such services, though, for musicians expect to be well-paid for their talents."

"You'll definitely hold the upper hand, then, when we arrive," he countered, "for there are rare few musicians at the outpost, and those there are play very poorly."

"Then I shall have the opportunity to earn my keep by my own hand," she countered, eyes dancing in merriment.

"If the Romans consider such a thing an honest trade for a married woman," he teased.

Her smile faded. "Yes, well, matrons are expected to remain idle. Though music and other arts are valued, accepting payment would be scandalous."

"Then you'll have to play for free," said Tristan with his familiar look of mild amusement.

"We'll make certain that no one causes a scandal by trying to pay you," Lancelot continued. "We'll have to confiscate any coins before they taint your reputation."

She burst into laughter. "How noble of you to be thus concerned. In truth, musicians and storytellers are generally paid by means of barter, which brings us back to my original warning."

He inclined his head. "Then we shall agree to stop early today in exchange for an extra song tonight."

* * *

The knights lingered over their dinners, for it was not yet dark and there was little to keep them occupied in the evenings besides talk and perhaps some music. The ladies had already been gone for a lengthy time, which astonished Lancelot. How long could it take for three women to bathe? He had expected them to be back by the time he had finished eating, but the men sat with their empty plates set aside for Althea to clean. Darkness had not fallen, yet they had half-emptied the wine jug and now waited to hear Silvia's music.

"I suppose Feliciana's taking time so she looks especially lovely for me," said Lancelot with a grin at the other two.

Galahad glared at him but said nothing. _Poor lad must really be smitten_.

"Say. Tristan," Lancelot went on, "do you think old Festus will consent to have me court his daughter?"

Tristan glanced up only for a moment. "No."

Galahad sniggered; they all froze, then, at the sound of the dog's ferocious barking and the women's excited voices, and then Silvia screamed, "Althea!"

Like a bow shot, Tristan vaulted from his relaxed sitting position. Lancelot leapt up while drawing one of his swords and darted towards the stream with Galahad close behind him. The barking ended with a sharp yelp, and Lancelot followed Tristan's path down a steep slope to the bank of the stream.

In an instant, he assessed the situation. Directly in front of Silvia, a large, black bear stood up on its hind legs, roaring. About five paces behind her, Althea was sitting on the ground, and Feliciana pulled on her arm, trying to help her to her feet. All of the women appeared to have finished bathing, and all were dressed in clean garments.

Tristan had been ahead and was there first, angling his body between Silvia and the angry animal with his sword in one hand and knife in the other. "Stay behind me," he ordered.

Lancelot reached Silvia and grabbed her with his free arm, dragging her backwards. As he did, she stumbled, and her wet hair swung and hit his shoulder and arm. He glanced back long enough to see Galahad had seized both Feliciana and Althea and was leading both of them back up the slope towards the camp.

"Pag," Silvia sobbed, trying to free herself from Lancelot's grasp.

Still holding his sword in the other hand, Lancelot yanked her back with him again and tried to avoid the heavy slap of her wet hair. "Back away."

"But _Pag_," she pleaded, struggling.

_Fool. Idiot_. Tristan was still brandishing his weapons and backing away step by step, and the danger had not passed. Without wasting another second, Lancelot heaved her up over his shoulder with one arm. Ignoring her shocked gasp, he gripped her legs and carried her back to the camp that way as she screamed and struggled.

Galahad already had Feliciana and Althea sitting down and was pouring them cups of wine from the earthenware jug. The Roman men, Otho and Quintillus stood a few paces away watching with startled expressions.

"Silvia!" cried the girl, leaping up when she saw them. "Is she hurt?"

"No." Lancelot tossed her down beside Althea without much pretense at gentleness. "Stay there."

"Don't worry. Tristan won't let it get by him," Galahad assured Silvia as Feliciana knelt beside her.

"Pag," she sobbed. "Pag. He's hurt."

"There's nothing you can do," Lancelot snapped. The foolish woman was going to end up injured or killed over a dog.

The others stared at her in silence. After a second, Feliciana handed her a cup of wine. "Drink this," she murmured.

Silvia took the cup but didn't drink. "We have to help _Pag_!" she wailed.

"Drink that now," Lancelot snarled, and the others glanced at him in shock. Sniffling, she raised the cup to her lips with shaking hands and took a noisy gulp.

"Have you got something stronger?" Galahad asked Althea.

Althea and Feliciana looked at each other. "If you do have something stronger, now is not the time to keep it hidden," Lancelot told them as he sheathed his sword. Now that he was fairly certain that Silvia wasn't going to run looking for the dog, he paced over towards the horses.

From the instant he had seen her glaring at the bear, he thought she had been trying to protect the others, not the stupid dog. Their responsibility on this journey was to see the women safely into the care of Septimus Festus, and he resented the foolish woman taking such a risk. Now, her blubbering over the animal infuriated Lancelot. He hated weakness, and her plaintive wailing scraped his nerves raw as did the cries of wounded animals that needed to be put out of their misery. All the men he had killed – husbands, fathers, and sons – had left behind women to weep and wail and grieve, and he abhorred the sound and sight of it.

Pacing calmed him. His anger abated a bit, and he regained control of his temper. No doubt Silvia would blame him for the dog's death and make the rest of the journey miserable. Not that it mattered, for Arthur had charged him with leading the others, and they would bring the women back safely. If she really wanted one, she could get another dog once they arrived.

Tristan strode into the camp holding something small against his chest. Lancelot's heart leapt at the realization that the little dog was still alive. He followed as the scout went to Silvia and set the dog in her arms. "Some bruises and scratches, but he'll be fine."

"Pag," Silvia breathed, embracing and kissing the little dog. "Pag." She wept into its fur.

All of them watched in pity and relief, for she had been mad with grief. Then Tristan turned away and Silvia glanced up.

"Tristan," she called in a voice that cracked, and he turned back. Shifting Pag to her other arm, Silvia reached out to grasp his hand and kiss it. "Thank you," she sobbed.

The laconic scout nodded briefly. Silvia let go of his hand and gave him a shaky, sodden smile before leaning down to tend to her pet.

"You had better bind that wrist before it swells," said Tristan before turning away.

Lancelot moved to join him. "What happened? Did the bear scratch her? Or bite her?"

"No." Tristan settled down in the same spot he had been sitting earlier. "She hit her. Slapped her, openhanded, right on the nose."

"What?" Lancelot couldn't quite comprehend. "Silvia slapped the bear?"

The scout took out a whetstone to sharpen his sword. "Hard, right on the nose. She jammed her wrist, so she's using her other hand now."

Lancelot had not arrived in time to see her hit the bear, but he had just seen Silvia shift the dog to her right arm in order to take hold of Tristan's hand with her left hand. It had been an unusual and awkward move that he had overlooked.

Looking over, Lancelot saw that Galahad stood watching as Althea made Silvia drink something that she poured from a small, ceramic flask. Feliciana wet a cloth to wash Silvia's red, sticky face. _Lucky._ They were lucky that no one had been hurt, no one had been killed, even the dog had survived, so the rest of the journey would be bearable.

* * *

Acknowledgment: Thanks to the holy see for beta reading.

Notes: Thanks to everyone who left comments or sent me messages. It's always useful to hear what other people are thinking as they read the chapters.

Also, thanks to SNW for reminding me about the quotes! I found the novelization of this film at my public library. Immortal literature it is not, but maybe I can find something useful, amusing, or poignant.

Chapter 6 is with my beta, but I haven't finished the first draft of Chapter 7 yet. I have a new nephew, and I've been busy helping out my brother and sister-in-law. Sometimes, working freelance is really convenient! (though I'd still love to find the right position...)


	6. The Music of the Mountains

**Chapter 6: The Music of the Mountains**

When they had returned to Rome after Father had married Silvia, Feliciana's cousins had teased her about having a coarse girl from the mountains as a mother. She had argued, declaring that Silvia was not her _real_ mother, but the taunts didn't last long, and she soon learned that the way the adults treated Silvia was more insidious and far worse. Only Father's rank and station prevented society ladies from snubbing Silvia at first; however, people tended to like Silvia, or not to mind her, because she was agreeable and tended to show only a mild persona. Feliciana knew her, though, and knew that she hid much of her true self. From Silvia, she had learned that a woman's strength and will could be hidden beneath a gentle, agreeable exterior.

When Silvia proved to be barren, friends and acquaintances pitied Septimus Festus for taking the poor, useless girl as a wife. Only her music held any value, for her peers considered her a social inferior in every other way. Thus Feliciana saw how Silvia fit herself into the insular and incestuous society: with the exception of not producing any children, she learned to play the part of the legate's wife to perfection.

Of course, Feliciana would never have to resort to such tricks. Unlike Silvia, she was a sophisticated lady born of Rome. She was beautiful, everyone admired her, and she would bear several children, of course. No one in her family had ever been barren. No, she would never need to assume the position of wallflower on the fringe of society.

Despite all that, Silvia was the only mother she had ever known, and she had grown to love her over the years. When she had seen Lancelot carrying her like a sack over his shoulder, Feliciana's heart had frozen for a second, for she had feared that Silvia had been fatally injured. Since then, both Feliciana and Althea had been waiting on her. Althea would have done it anyway, of course, but Feliciana felt both relieved that she wasn't injured and sorry that she had been so distraught over Pag.

Even though the weather was warm and clear, Silvia spent the whole day reclining on her pallet with the little dog. Seeing her that way both relieved and worried Feliciana. Althea assured her that, apart from the injured wrist, Silvia just needed a little time to recover from the ordeal. It was actually nice to wait on her for a change, especially since it was only going to be for a day. That, and her tender, daughterly demeanor seemed to impress Galahad.

Looking at that handsome knight and talking with him when he rode next to the carruca filled many hours of Feliciana's day. His good looks ruffled her heart, his diverting conversation amused her to the point of laughter, and his open friendliness eased her, warmed her, softened her.

She knew that he admired her. Men had been admiring her for as long as she could remember. The difference this time was that _she_ admired _him_. When she looked into his eyes, his bright blue eyes, she felt like she couldn't breathe. And when he smiled, a powerful yearning squeezed her heart. Never before had she liked a man. Not this much, at least. She had imagined that she loved a few handsome boys, but Silvia had put an end to those minor flirtations. This time, though, Feliciana would not let her: she would be sure to prevent Silvia from interfering.

Lancelot, as well, she came to regard as charming and attractive although there was something about his seductive appeal that both frightened and enticed her. Because of her inexperience, she supposed since neither Silvia nor Althea had any such qualms. On the other hand, Silvia's infatuation with him made Feliciana feel a certain kinship with her. How unfortunate that Althea was so ancient: had she been younger, perhaps she could have developed a fondness for Tristan and made a complete set for the three of them. Laughter bubbled up as Feliciana imagined the awful pair: the ancient crone and the repulsive foreigner.

About midday, Pag started to bark, so Althea called for Quintillus stop the carruca. When he did, she climbed out with the dog in one arm and set him down on the side of the road, where he hobbled about for a few seconds before urinating. The knights had all stopped and were watching with frowns by the time she set the dog inside and climbed back in.

As the carruca lurched forward, Lancelot's mount trotted over to the other side of the carruca where Silvia sat. "We can't just stop on a whim several times a day."

He looked angry, and the bitter edge in his voice worried Feliciana, who looked away.

"I'm sorry for acting so stupidly yesterday," Silvia said. "And thank you for saving me."

The knight didn't respond, so Feliciana glanced over at him. He was studying Silvia with a frown and no longer looked angry. Then he nodded in acknowledgment.

"How callous it would be to make a helpless animal wait for relief till we stop for the night," she went on in the same voice she used to placate Father. "His injuries prevent him from jumping down, and I couldn't think of another solution."

Lancelot sighed and rolled his eyes. "Next time, hand the dog to me, and _I_'ll set him down."

Feliciana couldn't imagine a knight taking the time to care for a pampered pet. Perhaps that was why he looked so irked. She tried to picture in her mind Lancelot dismounting to set the injured dog down on the ground.

"Or, perhaps Tristan would make a better choice," he added before urging his horse into a fast trot.

Such a cruel suggestion proved to Feliciana that he was still angry. Bidding Silvia to beg the horrible one for such a personal favor! No, if Pag barked again, Feliciana would call Galahad over. In truth, she rather liked the idea of seeing what power she had over him and never considered that he might refuse.

The day passed, and Pag slept through the afternoon. Lancelot rode ahead, and they did not see much of him that day. Tristan, as well, rode off to the other side of the carruca, so Feliciana didn't have to look at him. Silvia dozed or sat looking sleepy and contented all day long, and everyone left her alone. Galahad came over to chat with her for a while, and Althea listened to every word that they said.

When they stopped to make camp for the night, Feliciana recognized that Lancelot had not yet let go of his foul mood. While Althea was getting the meal ready and the others were busy as well, she slipped away and went to find Galahad tending to his horse.

"Have they sent you to fetch me?" he asked as he heaved the saddle off.

"Not yet." She watched the ripple of his muscles in his bare arms as he worked. "Why does Lancelot maintain such a sour disposition? All day it's been."

He laughed a little as he inspected the underside of one of the hooves. "I suspect he's still peevish over Silvia putting herself in danger over the dog.

"Peevish?" she declared. "He looks _dangerous_!"

He stopped what he was doing and turned to look at her. Although he was smiling, he seemed serious. "He _is_ dangerous. To the enemy, though, so you need not fear him."

"I don't fear _him_." She laughed a little because she didn't feel entirely comfortable with him, either. "Nor you, of course." She fixed him with her warm gaze.

Nodding, he came closer and placed a hand on her upper arm. It felt heavy, warm, and strong, and her heart fluttered like a bird's. "Tristan won't hurt you," he assured her. "We're all here to protect you."

"I know, but he looks so menacing." Shaking off thoughts of that unpleasant knight, she gave him her sweetest smile. "Unlike you."

He grinned, and his handsomeness made her breath catch. His other hand came up to rest on her shoulder. "I can be as dangerous as the next man," he told her in a low, warm tone that made her shiver all over.

_Far too dangerous_, she thought as she shifted closer and touched his chest with both hands. The heavy leather armor was cool and hard to the touch, and she imagined how the skin under it would feel – warm with hardened muscles.

He eased closer, and she moved as well, pressing against the leather. His hand cupped the back of her head and tilted it up to him, and then he was kissing her, and her fingers gripped the armor.

Although she had kissed two boys in her life, an unfamiliar thrill ran through her. All her senses fled, and she only knew the feel and taste of him was overwhelming her.

With sudden roughness, he broke off the tender kiss. "Go," he muttered. "Go now."

"What?" she managed to ask, feeling disoriented as she held onto him.

"Althea's calling you. Did you not hear her?"

She blinked at him, and then she heard Althea's voice calling her name.

"Go. Quickly," he urged, pushing her a bit, concern softening his lovely eyes.

That he didn't want her to get in trouble pleased Feliciana. With a brilliant flash of a smile, she left him and went back to the camp.

* * *

Weary but unable to sleep, Silvia slid from under the pallet's coverings without making much noise. Both Althea and Feliciana breathed as if they slept, so she pulled her heavy cloak around her shoulders and left the carruca, pushing the hangings back into place after her. The night air chilled her face and hands, and she supposed the weather would change the next day. A cold breeze rustled among leaves, and she saw the silhouette of one of the men sitting by the fire.

Over the course of their journey, she had spent time sitting with each of the knights while they were on watch. During those times, Lancelot joked and flirted, Tristan listened but said little, and Galahad chatted, often with animation. Now, if it was Lancelot, she would have to go and speak with him. Better to let him air all his choler while the others were asleep and start the next day as friends again. As she neared the fire, however, she recognized Tristan sitting back against the tree and carving a piece of wood.

He didn't look up in surprise at her approach, for he had heard her, probably when she had first stirred inside the carruca. As he watched her approach, a deep furrow formed across the bridge of his nose. Uncertain as to whether he would welcome her company, she sat beside him and watched his hands as he carved. Neither spoke. The wind continued to rustle, the fire crackled, and his knife scraped against the wood.

"Is this country dangerous enough to warrant a nightly watch?" she asked.

He glanced at her and then shrugged one shoulder. "Can't hurt."

He wouldn't waste an explanation, she suspected, for he thought she wouldn't understand. For several pleasant minutes, they sat in silence.

"I suppose the others can sleep easy knowing their comrade is alert," she finally said, looking at him with the hint of a smile.

He had to realize that she was a soldier's wife and used to such things, she thought, but he didn't respond with more than a little nod.

"What are you carving?" she asked. It looked like the personal deities that she had known well in the days of her youth. If it was, she knew better than to touch the carving; reaching out her hand, she touched his wrist, and he let her pull his hand towards her.

The unfinished figure of a woman in a loose garment and two horses, one on either side of her, showed the rough skill of the carver. Despite the simplicity, he was fashioning the image with the unhurried care of one who takes the time to do something right.

"It's Epona," she said, for she recognized the Earth goddess who protected horses and riders. The image was fitting for a knight; its similarity to the goddess of the Helvetii surprised her, for she knew that he came from far away, beyond Greece and Macedonia.

When she looked up at him, he was frowning at her, looking wary, so she let go of his wrist. He did not draw back his arm right away; he glanced at the carving and back at her.

Having no wish to offend him, she tried to explain. "My people still follow the old ways, and the Earth goddess often appears with two horses. In this guise, we call her Epona."

He nodded in understanding and sat back a little as he studied her. The wariness eased a bit, and he relaxed.

She sat thinking, enjoying the quiet and the night sounds plus the silent companionship. Although she hated to break it, her tired mind had cleared enough in the air to think. She wasn't sure when she'd have another chance to speak alone with this man, and she needed allies.

"Before we arrive at the outpost, we shall again need to bathe and dress," she began. "No matter what else happens, unless Feliciana and I appear as elegant ladies, it will reflect badly on Septimus, you see." She gave him a wistful smile. "I cannot imagine that Lancelot will agree to the same thing again, for the man can certainly hold a grudge."

She waited to see if he would reply, but he was carving again and didn't indicate that he had heard her.

"Do you think he'll permit it?" she pressed.

"Could be. It's unlikely that we'll come across another bear protecting her cubs."

Cubs? In the panic of the moment, she hadn't noticed, but their scent may have started Pag barking. In fact, she hadn't realized at the time that the bear was female. "Why did you not kill the bear? Surely, it would have been easy for a man of your skill."

He nodded once. "Then I would have had to kill the cubs or leave them for the wolves."

Her heart twisted a little at the thought of helpless cubs eaten by wolves. "I suppose there is some dishonor in killing a mother and children."

This time he actually smiled a little. "Only if they're not armed," he quipped.

She couldn't help a little laugh. "Wicked," she murmured, then reached to rub her forehead and eyes. Despite her inability to sleep, weariness ached in her joints. The ordeal of the previous day made her feel old and worn.

"Can you sing without music?"

Surprised to hear him speak first and without prompting, she lowered her hand and looked at him. As a small child, she had learned the traditional songs of the Helvetii without music. In fact, she had not started playing till she was eight years old, and then only because she had shown a strong affinity for it.

She knew dozens of songs. Hundreds, really. Did she know more songs from home or from her years in Rome? She couldn't say, but the songs differed, and she never played the old songs except for her own ears. Sometimes, Althea or the other servants heard, but if Septimus or Feliciana had ever overheard her playing Helvetian music, they had never mentioned it. She had kept that music to herself, for she knew the Romans would not appreciate it. She suspected that they would ridicule and look down on such inferior foreign pap; thus, she guarded her native music and did not share it.

Now, in the dark of night and among the rustling of the wind, the bittersweet songs of the mountains clustered around her like living things. Smiling and yet feeling sad, she wondered how she could explain all this to Tristan. And then, glancing at the silent scout, she realized that she didn't have to: he would not object to the provincial music that the Romans classified as common and unrefined.

"Yes, of course." Since she had hurt her wrist, she had been unable to play the cithara, so they had lived without any music at all for two days. First she closed her eyes and let a familiar tune come to her. The lone listener would not understand the language, but that didn't matter.

Her song was low and quiet, sung in a soft voice to prevent the others from waking. She sang of evening, of the lengthening shadows in the valleys between the high mountains, of the winds that swept down through the trees at night, of the brilliant moonlight that illuminated the spaces between the tall trees. The silent peace of those long-ago nights filled her mind as the memories overtook all her senses.

As she allowed the last note to fade into the sound of rustling leaves, Silvia became aware of the wind, the fire, and the knight beside her. The memories and emotions stirred up by the song exhausted her, and she leaned back against the tree, wondering if she should go back to her pallet. Sleeping out in the cold air required her furs, which she had no intention of fetching. She didn't want to move.

The bark of the tree was rough and lumpy, but the heavy cloak protected her from most of the cold and discomfort. She leaned her head against the tree; her hair made a nice cushion, so she relaxed and drew in a breath, smiling at Tristan, who nodded his thanks and began to carve again.

The familiar music of the mountains had melted away the concerns of her life, so her mind was not crowded with worries and regrets. Following the hypnotic rhythm of his knife's scrape eased her into an even more relaxed state. _This is lovely_, she thought with absolute stillness in her mind, and then she yawned.

* * *

Acknowledgments: Thanks to Dannylionthe1st and the holy see for beta reading.

Notes: Big thanks to both Sweet Sassy Mollassy and Sauron's Nagging Wife from pointing out that bears have gone extinct in modern Britain. So have wolves. The sad truth is that many animals throughout the world have become extinct. However, during the fifth century, bears and wolves still existed in the region where the story currently takes place.

I probably won't use any quotes from the horrid novelization, _King Arthur_, because the writing is so insipid. On the other hand, here's one that actually inspired me while writing this chapter: _Tristan carefully and reverently carved simple images of personal deities into the side of a great tree._ [p. 120]

As always, all comments and feedback are appreciated.


	7. Through Galahad's Eyes

**Chapter 7: Through Galahad's Eyes**

In the grey light before dawn, Galahad yawned and stretched before blinking himself awake. Odd that he had slept the whole night through and no one had woken him for his watch. As he yawned again and started to get up, he recalled kissing Feliciana the previous evening and grinned. Although the cheeky minx flirted with him, her obvious innocence and inexperience both amused him and filled him with a feeling of protectiveness. She was lovely, sheltered, and naïve about the world, and he felt a bit sorry for her. Although such a flower was not meant for a man such as himself, he allowed himself the odd fantasy of claiming her as his own.

_Fantasy_ described it for him, for he knew very well that they were under direct orders to protect the girl's virtue as well as her life. He told himself, however, that nothing beyond a few stolen kisses could occur under the watchful eyes of both Althea and Silvia. He wasn't trying to charm her or seduce her: why should he have to rebuff her brazen advances? However, Lancelot had noticed Feliciana's attentions and told him not to touch the girl, not to even be alone with her.

These musings disappeared when he saw Tristan sitting up against a tree in his usual posture. Silvia slept curled on the ground beside him with her head upon his thigh just above the knee. His cloak covered her, and one of his hands rested on her head, his fingertips making slow circles in her dark hair.

Almost at once, however, he became aware of Galahad's approach and drew back his hand from her head with a quick jerk. "What happened?" Galahad asked in a quiet voice, for he had seen the lady retire to her pallet quite early the previous evening.

"Wake her up," Tristan instructed in a gruff mutter, "and take her back to the other women."

The young knight frowned and wondered what the lady had done to ruffle Tristan. Then he nodded before crouching down beside her. "Lady," he said, shaking her shoulder. "Lady, you must wake."

She stirred a little and blinked. "What?"

"Why not go back to the carriage?" he asked. "You'll rest easier on the pallet."

First, she blinked at him several times before recognizing him. She rubbed her fingertips across her eyes. "Must've fallen asleep," she mumbled. Then she became aware that her head was pillowed on Tristan's thigh, and she scrambled to sit up. "Forgive me," she stammered, still half-asleep and her face turning a blotchy red color.

"For what?" Recovered from his earlier discomfort, Tristan gazed at her with his head tilted slightly.

Without knowing what to say, she averted her eyes and shook her head. "I shouldn't have fallen asleep. Should have gone back to the carruca." She struggled to her feet.

Tristan didn't move. He merely watched with a thoughtful frown.

The lady snatched up his cloak, shook it out several times, snapped it with vigor despite her injured wrist, and folded it over her arm before handing it back to him. "Thank you."

The scout still had not moved, but he reached to take it from her. "Thank you for the song."

Standing still, Silvia looked at him with wide eyes as the flush faded from her face. Galahad thought she looked miserable and ill, but then she smiled. "My pleasure," she murmured.

She turned to go. Galahad walked with her and offered her a hand to help her climb into the carriage, from which there was no sound. The other women were still sleeping.

When he turned back Tristan had disappeared. _Probably went for a piss_, Galahad thought as he went to take a seat by the remaining embers of the fire. No one else had stirred, but with the ever lightening sky, it was only a matter of time until they did. For breakfast, he started eating some of the hard cheese that they carried, washing it down with swigs of water from a skin.

Rain began falling before midday and poured down on them for the rest of the day. The carriage's heavy canvas coverings remained down, and although he envied the women's dry refuge, Galahad knew that he would hate to be entombed in such a close place.

He didn't see Feliciana all day although he did hear her raised voice arguing with one of the others. Shortly after the argument, he saw Silvia push aside the canvas and lean out to gesture to Tristan. The scout rode over to see what she wanted, and although Galahad couldn't hear what she said to him, he could see Tristan nodding.

Silvia disappeared for a moment, but Tristan's mount kept pace with the carriage. After a moment, she leaned out again, holding out both hands to place her dog into the crook of Tristan's arm. The knight reined in and dismounted to set the little creature on the ground.

Seeing such a deadly archer and swordsman behave as a nursemaid to a pup made Galahad smile. Because Tristan lavished affection on his hawk, Galahad figured that his helping an injured animal made sense. On the other hand, Tristan didn't look foolish doing such a thing. _Good thing she didn't ask me_, Galahad thought, for although he would not have been able to refuse, he would have felt uncomfortable and looked silly. No doubt, the dog would have run off despite its injuries, forcing Galahad to chase it.

The next day the rain stopped. Galahad felt his spirits rising, for they had only a few more days left in the journey. During dinner, Feliciana smiled at him, but he had no chance to speak with her. After they had drunk the fine Roman wine, Althea came around with a ceramic flask and gave them all some _life water_ as she called it, to keep out the chill from the rain. Galahad sipped it and coughed, for he found that it was very strong drink. _Fire water would be a better name_, he thought.

Silvia sat with Lancelot for the first time since their falling out, and she held up her wrist for him to examine. Probably to see if it had healed. They both laughed, and Galahad knew that meant they were friends again, which would relieve the whole party. As he watched, the young knight saw Silvia's hand light upon Lancelot's forearm and stroke down to his hand. Wondering if anyone else had noticed that affectionate caress, Galahad looked around, but no one else was paying any attention. When he glanced back at the pair, Silvia's fingers were closed around Lancelot's hand, and she was saying something to him that was making him glower at her with a dark frown.

How incredible that no one else seemed to notice! Tristan, on Lancelot's other side, ignored them and concentrated on the cup in his hand. Althea was telling Feliciana something and neither one glanced in Silvia's direction. That lady was now rubbing Lancelot's arm and shoulder with slow, gentle motions, and Galahad had no doubt that he was enjoying her touch. Any man would like being petted that way. But what was she saying to make him look so ferocious? Unable to see the expression on Silvia's face because she had her back to him, Galahad could not even guess.

As he was growing concerned over the exchange, he saw Lancelot roll his eyes, which was a good sign that he was less angry than annoyed. As Galahad took a deep, relieved breath, he saw Tristan lean over and say a few words to Lancelot. From the expression on his face, his words amazed Lancelot and then made him laugh. Curious, Galahad wondered which of the three would tell him what was said before turning his attention back to Feliciana.

The girl gave him a delicious, warm smile as Althea led her off to the carriage. Disappointed at her departure, he remained in his place, for the first watch was his. As the others settled down for the night, Silvia stayed with him, her habit from the beginning of the trip which had ceased since her injury. He didn't mind her company because even though she tended to ask a lot of questions about their destination and life there, she also listened with attentive interest to anything he said.

"I noticed your disagreement with Lancelot," he said to her after he judged the others had fallen asleep. "Can you tell me what you were saying to him?"

She laughed and shook her head at him. "Such curiosity! Why not ask him rather than me?"

"You're more likely to tell me," he countered, grinning and winking.

"You're right there." She drew in a breath and her smile faded. "It's only a few more days until we reach the outpost, and we must arrive in the expected way, like good Romans, or it may shame Septimus," she explained. "He understands but doesn't agree that we should be permitted to stop to bathe in clean water the evening before our expected arrival."

"Bathe _again_!" he laughed. "He won't agree."

"Well, he _has_ agreed, actually." She grinned at him.

Now, he understood. The strong drink, the intimate laughter, the gentle caresses – these had all been her attempts to gain Lancelot's support for her plan. Such conniving and manipulating made Galahad see her in a new way. Before, her open admiration for Lancelot had amused him and made her appear charming and unsophisticated. Now, with her crafty use of womanly guile, he felt both respect and contempt for her: respect that she had the ability to convince a man like Lancelot to change his mulish mind, and contempt that she attempted to use seductive charm to influence a man. Just like every other woman in Galahad's experience.

"It would not do for Feliciana and me to appear like common harridans upon our arrival," she continued. "The Roman officers will expect the legate's family to look and act like elegant ladies."

He understood what she meant and recognized why Lancelot had agreed. On the other hand, The Roman ways, their inexplicable niceties, and all their interminable rituals annoyed Galahad, so he sought to change the subject.

Recalling Tristan's words of the previous morning, he decided to ask her for a song. He was not Lancelot, but neither was Tristan, of course. He had a hard time imagining how the quiet scout had enticed her to sing, but if she hadn't minded singing for _him_, then she wouldn't mind singing for Galahad.

"I was hoping you'd agree to sing me a song tonight. I haven't heard your music in a while, and it would be nice."

His request must have surprised her, for she blinked and frowned. "I don't usually sing without accompaniment," she explained, "but you're in luck because we don't have much of an audience."

"I'm honored!" he laughed.

"A tale?" she asked as she considered what to sing.

"Yes, please. An epic."

Silvia sat back, closing her eyes and smiling. A moment passed, and then she began to sing. Galahad listened in rapt silence as the tale unfolded of a lady living in a solitary tower upon a river island under a curse that forced her to live shut away from life, weaving every day upon a loom with her back to the window.

The song melted away and the young knight saw the scene before him. The lady had to sit at a loom and weave all day long, and she was forbidden to look out the window. Everything that occurred reflected in a looking glass, and so she could only weave designs of what she saw of the world. Although she never disobeyed the commandment of the curse, she felt lonely and bitter as she watched the world passing by her window: pairs of chivalrous knights, caravans of people making merry, young lovers.

When she saw the image of a handsome, sensuous knight reflected in the glass, she defied the curse and went to the window to look at him with her eyes. Her momentary lapse, though understandable, had dire consequences: she was forced to leave the tower and island in a small boat. As she floated away, singing her last song, her blood froze and she died. When the boat reached the wharf near the castle, her handsome knight saw her and remarked how lovely she was.

As the song ended and the images melted from his mind, Galahad became aware of his surroundings again. Lancelot had returned to sit by the fire rather than sleep; Tristan was also sitting up and listening over in the distant shadows.

None of them spoke. What could be said after such an epic? How sad and ironic it was! Silvia sat breathing evenly, and Galahad thought she must be tired after such a long, difficult song. He wondered if the story would sadden Feliciana, whom he imagined to be of an impressionable and romantic nature in her girlishness.

"Galahad," said Lancelot. "You're falling asleep. Go take some rest. You'll have the third watch tonight."

He looked at Lancelot in surprise because he had not realized he had nodded off. Perhaps Lancelot wanted to be alone with Silvia. How unfair that he could enjoy being alone with Silvia at night but Galahad had to stay away Feliciana for her own sake!

Resigned, he turned to Silvia. "Thank you, Lady," he said. "I really am honored."

She smiled at him, and she seemed pleased, and it galled him to leave. _I should remember to choose the young mother and not the lovely daughter if I ever encounter a similar circumstance,_ he told himself with a sigh as he went off to fetch his cloak.

* * *

Acknowledgment: Thanks to the awesome Dannylionthe1st for beta reading and excellent feedback.

Notes: If the song's story sounded familiar to anyone, it's from Tennyson's poem, _The Lady of Shalott_ (very apropos, eh?).

_A bow-shot from her bower eaves,  
He rode between the barley sheaves,  
The sun came dazzling thro' the leaves,  
And flamed upon the brazen greaves  
Of bold Sir Lancelot._

Also, I'll be away for a while, so no updates for a few weeks. Happy 2009 to everyone!


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